


Still running

by Connibvallejos



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Ableism, Darkfic I guess??, Deaf Character, Deaf Neil Josten, Disabled Character, Gen, Introspection, Neil Josten on the run, Neil is deaf, Pre-Canon, Running Away, There’s introspection but also dialogue, internalized ableism, neil Josten has killed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28434126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Connibvallejos/pseuds/Connibvallejos
Summary: Bill’s mother didn’t like that he was deaf. Hard of hearing, really, but still. It slowed them down, it was a nuisance she didn’t want to afford. Right now, though? It was the least of her concerns.Or; deaf Neil on the run.
Relationships: Neil Josten & Mary Hatford
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	Still running

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this when I was looking for content of deaf Neil and Neil’s life on the run. I mixed both and regretted way too late, so I finished it. Bon appetit.
> 
> I am not a native English speaker, so if you find any errors please let me know!  
> I’m not deaf either, so if there’s anything I got wrong feel free to correct me. Just keep in mind that it was my intention to make Neil and his mother be ableist.
> 
> Please read the tags and tell me if I should update/put tw and cw!!

Louis was sitting in the back of the classroom, he had to be. His mother told him to never let anyone stay behind his back if he could help it, so he was at the back of the classroom in some school of France. He was trying very hard to look at his desk-mate’s notebook without getting noticed so he could fill in the missing words in his. It didn’t work, but he was glad the girl just moved her notebook enough for him to look at it without it being too hard.

She stopped to talk to him before going out for recess.

“I noticed you looking at my notes, is it because you can't hear?,” she asked.

Louis didn’t like where this was going, and he didn’t like how easy it was for her to tell. It made him uncomfortable how easy he was to read. He nodded anyway.

“Is that what those things in your ears are for?”

His mother had let his hair grow so it covered his hearing aids, she said. At least try to. Maybe they weren’t extremely big, but he was tiny. The girl was sitting right next to him with a clear view to his side, it probably shouldn’t worry him. He knew it would worry his mother though. He nodded again, slowly.

“Why don't you ask the teacher to sit you in the front?”

“No,” he hurried to say. He didn’t need any more attention to himself.

“Oh. Ok.”

He let her make her way outside before he got himself to ask her “can i continue to copy from your notebook?”

She just smiled and nodded cheerfully.

They were running away from there short after. His mother was driving a hot-wired car and he was clutching his duffel bag with a gun in his hand when his mother muttered something that may or may not have been understandable. He looked at her just in case.

“Jump,” she said -repeated?- louder and clearer.

“What?” He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was quite sure he hadn’t been ordered that before.

“Jump! Open the goddamn door and jump out of the car right now!” She was impatient now, and he didn’t want to upset her any more, so he did. And god did it hurt.

Before he could notice much more than the floor beneath him, his mother grabbed his arm to make him stand up and run. He glanced behind him and saw how the car chasing them collided with theirs before it could stop and the passengers jumped out. His mother was talking to him, but they were running and he couldn’t catch many words and his head was throbbing. He thought she said “shoot”, but he didn’t have good aim yet and she didn’t want him to waste bullets. He looked at her when she yanked his arm and came to a halt.

“Where are your hearing aids?”, she scolded.

That’s when he upped his free hand to his ear and realized they weren’t there. “Gone.”

She took the gun from his hand and turned around. There were three silent shots and no more men with knifes chasing them. He was now noticing the pain in the edges of his new and ugly road rash. She faced him again.

“Change clothes so we can go to the store, you’re learning how to clean today.”

Marco’s mother was paying their stock of nonperishable food while he was watching the magazines in the kiosk near her. There was an Exy one, so he hoped his mother didn’t notice he was looking at that one. He doubted it, his mom always knew.

He noticed the woman working there was talking to him, but he didn’t understand her, and he had a hunch she had been trying to get his attention for a while. They had arrived for the first time to Mexico a few days ago, almost a week now, so he wasn’t used to Spanish yet. It didn’t help that the supermarket was super noisy and the lady was talking too fast for him to catch anything.

When his mother saw him with a stranger she went straight to them. She stopped in front of both, not besides him, so Marco could understand more of what she said and not ruin her cover story, which was mostly true. Marco didn’t get it all either way.

“I’m so sorry! My son is kind of deaf and he lost his hearing aids not long ago. He’s not used to hearing without them yet,” she said in Spanish.

The miss answered slower something between the lines of “Ah! Don’t worry. My nephew is deaf too.” And bid them goodbye when they parted.

When they were out of sight and earshot his mother wasn’t as friendly anymore. Her nails were digging his skin.

“Now we’re going to have to move again, they know too much.” His mother’s voice was steady but severe. “You’re too recognizable like that and you’ve got to stop thinking about Exy. You need to do better, ok?”

He didn’t dare to contradict her when she was angry at him, so he gave a tiny frenetic nod.

“Ok?” She insisted, harsher.

“Ok.”

“Take off the vest.”

He shook his head. They were still at the safe house. They had been for nearly a month now, but Paul still had the Kevlar on. He almost never took it off if not for showering and changing clothes, and there was no one to get suspicious about it since they weren’t going out. It was boring, but it was safe.

“Give it to me, it needs to be washed.”

He shook his head again. Faster, more desperate this time.

“Take it off.” She had that voice that said he didn’t want to antagonize her, but Paul was way too stubborn. And paranoid, just like his mother. With good reason, really. The bullet hadn’t even gone through.

“I don’t want to.”

“I’m tired of your childish tantrums. It’s been a month. Now take it off and give it to me before a possible bullet is the least of your concerns.”

She could’ve taken it while he showered, she knew how to pick locks, but she also knew how to impose herself and Paul needed to learn to obey better. So he did as he was told and watched his mother get to work.

He was sitting in the floor with his back against the wall, which was splashed by blood, just like him. The man in front of him didn't look like a human anymore, and Jonas wasn't sure Hanna was.

She had tortured the man, taking him apart bit by bit in the worst places, the ones that would hurt but not kill him. At the sight Jonas couldn't help but remember his father. His mother would shut him up by heavy hand if she ever heard that, but he wasn’t in control of his own thoughts right now. He couldn’t help but remember the screams from the basement and the blood still in Nathan’s hands, poorly washed on purpose. The times he made him watch, just like Hanna now, the times the only thing that stopped him from going against his son was Mary and the ones she wasn’t enough.

Jonas couldn't figure out why he didn't feel the same dread with Hanna as he did with Nathan, but he guessed that that was the difference. The act wasn't a threat to him like the examples his father gave were. She did it for them, for him. She didn’t have any other option but to do what she did to the man if that was the only way he spoke, if that was the only way they could continue to be alive themselves. Their life was worth way more than the lives of those who were trying to kill them.

Jonas just needed to understand that and stop whining before his mother made him stop.

Ben was making lunch while Betty took inventory. The news were on in the tiny radio-like tv his mother got for practical purposes, and though it was too quiet to understand anything over the electric kettle he was glad it was there. Both things overshadowed the whistle in his ears. He liked it, it was almost like they were normal people having a normal day. She was a single mom finishing work at home and he was the boy helping with lunch.

“Ben”, his mother called. He turned to her. “I bought eggs yesterday, fry two to put in the ramen,” she instructed while signing ‘egg’ and ‘cook’ and pointing to where they were. That was mostly all he understood.

They didn’t know much ASL yet, and it was a strict rule to never do it in public. His mother had just agreed to learn with him not more than a month ago –so he was less of an inconvenience–, and they had been busy with buying new identities, learning and perfecting more necessary languages –especially because it was hard to get the accents right–, aim, cultural knowledge and other stuff. You know, how normal people get busy.

Ben knew she was indulging because she felt responsible for the latest broken ribs, but he wasn’t going to complain. They ate instantaneous ramen with a fried egg and saw tv in order to ignore the lack of safe themes not already used that week.

Bill’s mother didn’t like that he was deaf. Hard of hearing, really, but still. It slowed them down, it was a nuisance she didn’t want to afford. It wasn’t something he could avoid, but she still took it out on him. Bill knew she was holding back, though. If she wasn’t he would definitely notice, but his mother could recognize it wasn’t his fault. It didn’t make it any easier for either of them.

He had lost the hearing aids he used to have, so that was a problem. Not like they would fit now anyway. They were too distinctive and hard to get, besides expensive, so his mother didn’t get him new ones. That’s why he had to get through with what he did hear and the little lip reading he could do. Albeit right now it was a bit hard.

He was shooting from of his open window in the shotgun seat and his mother was saying something, he was almost certain, but his head was out of the window and he wasn’t looking at her and all the noise made it almost impossible to hear anything else. If his mother was yelling it might have been important, but he really needed to finish shooting the tires before being shot himself. He couldn’t keep trying for long, ‘cause she got him back inside by a fistful of hair.

“Fuck,” He muttered. “They have guns this time too.”

“I know.” She didn’t seem very happy about it either. She was almost yelling and Bill was trying his best to lipread through the rearview mirror. “Hear me now. I need you to shoot them, not the cars. We won’t get away from this one if you’re too soft”

For once, Bill hoped he had heard wrong. He knew he hadn’t, so instead he hoped his aim was good enough and last night’s dinner stayed in place.

Mia was teaching him how to drive. It would be nice if it wasn’t for necessity. Or if it wasn’t dark at night in the middle of nowhere. Maybe if his mother’s voice wasn’t so filled with hastiness and so close to him.

She had said that he was tall enough now, that he had taken quite his time, but that he finally reached the pedals and he had to learn. Gabriel guessed most teenagers were exited about the prospect of learning to drive, and he was too in the minutes between the news and the fact. Now he wasn’t so much, and his mother’s patience was running out. Gabriel’s wasn’t patience, it was endurance, and he wouldn’t need it right now if he could just get it right, but he couldn’t. So he was glad of his mother’s patience and of his own endurance, he could only be glad.

Steve’s mother wasn’t very happy the first time she discovered he had kissed a girl. Nor any other time, for that matter. First came the hair pulls and fists, and then her paranoid but well placed angry words. They couldn’t afford such a risk, girls were dangerous. She was trying her damn best to keep him alive and all he did was ruin it, ungrateful brat. She was scolding him and he was looking at the floor. Her hushed but awful words were maybe impossible to understand, but that was kind of the point. That, and the fact that it grated her nerves.

“You hear me when I talk to you!”, she yelled, pulling his hair. Steve flinched a little, but he was fast to recover.

“I thought you knew I can’t.”

He knew that was the wrong thing to say before it got out of his mouth, but it was obvious by the time his mother’s palm collided with his cheek. What’s another hit? She waited until Steve was looking at her again.

“Pack up, we’re going at dawn.”

That was final.

It was a dark blond hair dye for him this time, a bit darker for his mother. He had already dyed her hair, kind of painful with the deep stitched gash in his shoulder, and now she was dying his. It was almost like a family bonding experience, a tradition. If not for the weirdness of it.

“Do you have all the paths to the school memorized?” There wasn’t much noise besides the cars and sirens of the city floors down –that he couldn’t hear anyway–, so he could understand her, but it still helped reading his mother’s lips in the mirror. He was constantly looking at his mother’s reflection in an attempt to avoid his own.

“Yes.”

“And all the safe spots?”

“Yes,” he confirmed again.

He didn’t need to learn school stuff to survive, but his mother had agreed this time after he had insisted it got them less suspicion from the neighbors. Not that she fell for it, but she had indulged him. Plus, he knew she was doing a favor. He liked those hours without her right behind him, and it was the only time where he felt more like a normal teen. Except for the hearing thing, normal teens got help for that.

“How is your hearing, Noah?” That was weird. She never mentioned it so directly, and even repeating herself and talking about the sign language related stuff seemed to make her frustrated or uncomfortable.

“You care?”, he dared to say. The harsh hair pull said it wasn’t a good idea. “It’s not better than before.”

That seemed to be the wrong answer too, although he didn’t get his hair pulled this time. He knew he had to be honest with her, she always knew when he was lying, but he didn’t like that look on his mother. Her face was neutral, but Noah could tell she was hiding her real expression. He liked to stay as far as possible when he couldn’t identify what was the emotion or the problem.

“It’s fine, it hasn’t gotten worse. I’m fine.”

He usually saved that answer for nosy people, but it seemed to work well enough now.

Anne was awake before him. Probably due to a noise too quiet for him to hear, so he woke up to the movement instead of the sound. His hand went up under his pillow to the gun. There was no one to point it to yet, so he glanced questioning at his mother.

“They’re coming, take your things,” she signed, so he did.

They had gotten better at ASL. Good, ‘cause things kept getting harder and harder for him to understand. It came in handy in these situations too, where they had to be quiet.

They went through the window to the fire escape, where Lucas realized it was a rainy dawn. He guided their route to the floor, but before they could get to it a knife grazed Lucas’s shoulder. He looked back on instinct, on a desperate need to check on his mother, and saw her bleeding from the side.

“Keep going, don’t stall,” she signed.

He knew helping her would be losing time, so he turned around to keep descending, but another knife had already made a cut in his chest. Lucas realized then that it wasn’t only one man, but a man and a woman and they had already reached them, only a few steps behind.

His mother was in the way of shooting, so he didn’t. She did. He wouldn’t let her know it, but he was relieved it was her and not him who killed them. Too bad there were more people down the stairs. He looked desperately for another escape route. He couldn’t find a safe one, but he did find a better one. Still risky, but less deathly.

His father’s men were bundled right at the end of the stairs, where he and his mother couldn’t shoot them before they were injured themselves. They were still on the second floor, but trying was always better than dying. He glanced questioning at his mother and she nodded. That was their way out.

He made sure nothing would fall off him before he jumped as far as he could from the railing to the floor. He had jumped from similar heights before, he could do this, he could land just fine, get right back up and start running. Except he couldn’t. Even though he didn’t hear the rain, he saw it. It was there, and it puddled on the concrete floor, reason why he didn’t land well. Or maybe it was because his foot was still healing. He started getting up with difficulty, his side newly hurting. Their persecutors wouldn’t have any consideration for it, and neither would his mother. He hadn’t finished getting up before he felt someone grabbing his arm. He struggled before he realized it was his mother.

“Run to the car, we’ll take care of it later,” she hurried him.

They didn’t have time to check for damage, he had to run even though it ached. He was profoundly glad that the ones with guns had already been killed, because he couldn’t picture themselves making it out alive if the ones at the foot of the ladder did too.

There were men waiting for them at the car, but Anne already knew it would be that way. The next time they stopped was at night, Lucas’s side getting darker, aching. It would hurt for a while, but at least the cuts wouldn’t scar ugly. The path behind them was painted in blood, just like the one ahead.

They were waiting at a fast food chain restaurant, backs to the wall as always. That’s where they were going to meet his mother’s contact. In the meantime they were having their first meal other than roadside fruit and cereal bars in days. Good thing he liked fruit. Oliver didn’t think the hamburger was much more healthy, but at least it was variation. At least it wasn’t bare rice for more than a week. He didn’t think he was a picky eater, but sometimes repetition was too much. He wouldn’t touch instantaneous ramen again if he had the choice. Not that he would tell anyone.

He’s had a weird feeling in the stomach the whole day, probably because today was Nathaniel’s birthday, but he was also very hungry, so he finished his food in record time hoping his mind had a little of consideration for his digestive system.

Oliver looked at his mother in the eyes when he caught sigh of a man coming toward them and she nodded. He used to wait a bit away while she did her business, but he guessed he was old enough now. Had been for quite some time. Not like he could follow the conversation in these places, he just sat there looking all serious glancing around for any threats until it was time to actually go make the identities. That’s exactly what he did this time too. When the man and his mother nodded and she subtly touched his knee with her own, Oliver knew it was time to go. He grabbed his duffel bag and threw his garbage to the can on their way out.

His mother was silent besides him. They were in an airport, it was useless to even try to get him to hear. He was shit at lipreading and all the sounds just muffled together making it impossible to understand anything without straining himself. They didn’t need to talk if they weren’t in immediate danger, and if they were he wouldn’t be able to decipher what his mother was saying in time anyway.

The change was drastic, but expected. Only when he was running did he miss being trapped in a safe house, on guard duty if not sleeping and going out just enough for the neighbors not to get suspicious. Only when there was calm did he miss the storm. It was just for him that the disorientation from change provided comfort. He and his mom, changing, always the two of them. He had learned to fear the calm in a way of preparation. It never lasted.

No one had caught up to them this time. They left in time and got to their destination without mishap. It was weird. Not unusual, but not common neither. Of course it had occurred before, but it still felt weird, it unsettled him, like there was something yet to happen, something even worse to make up for the lack of blood spilled. He never felt calm, he was self aware enough to realize that, but the fact that they had moved on on time left him hanging. If the bad didn’t come, then he could only wait for the worst next.

In a second they were Jane and John, boring mother and son from next door, and the next they were stitching themselves up in the bathroom from a gas station or parked in a back alley close to the liquor store, trying their damn best not to make any noise. It was fine though, change kept them alive.

So when he was yet again in another airport he didn’t recognize, he didn’t feel only dread, but reassurance too. All was worth it for a chance to escape, to stay alive.

He followed his mother when she got up. It was time to go.

She hadn’t gotten him hearing aids in six years, so Tobias didn’t know why she did now. He didn’t even know how she got them. Not that he dared to ask. Point is, now he had hearing aids and he had to get used to them. He had to regulate them, and because they didn’t have an ear mold he couldn’t leave the sound too high. They probably had a sensible limit, so he hoped it was enough. It probably would be, a little more sound was better than no additional sound.

He wasn’t sure if this counted as a gift. They often got things for their survival, like the Kevlar vest or weapons or alcohol, and they weren’t quite gifts, but Tobias guessed they felt like it. They brought such a relief. He knew he would have to use them even if he didn’t like them once he put them on, but he was ok with that. He didn’t like alcohol either, but he preferred to have it when treating wounds.

Point is, his mother had gotten him hearing aids and he was going to use them

His mother never taught him how to fight. Sure, he knew beforehand how to yield a knife and she taught him how to shoot a gun, but she never taught him how to fight with people who were already close enough to hit him. All he ever knew was to receive. She said that if they did their job right they shouldn’t need to know. That if they were close enough to hit him he might as well be death. Yet the people from the neighborhoods where they stayed picked a fight with Charlie often enough for him to doubt his mother. Not that he would ever let her know it. Not that he would ever acknowledge it.

So there he was, shoved by knifepoint to a wall because some gang decided he needed to learn a lesson when he was just two streets away from their latest shitty studio-apartment. At least the way home wouldn’t be too much trouble if it was close.

He tried his best to look scared. Not that he wasn’t, he was never very fond of knives to begin with, and he really didn’t want this to go sideways and end up with more than a few cuts and bruises, but he’d gone through this before, and he could take the knife from the man’s hands if he really needed to. He wouldn’t, he shouldn’t give them any more incentive to try and gut him more often. He just had to look a little scared and let them do their thing without it going too far.

So Charlie did just that; he let the guy hold the knife against him, cut him a little, threaten him until he felt satisfied. If he let himself be hit it would hurt less, would be less awful. He worried about his hearing aids, but it was fine, they didn’t break. He did his best to look helpless –it wasn’t hard– and didn’t try to get up when they finally stopped. They looked for something to steal, but they didn’t find anything except for his hearing aids half-hanging from his ears. They didn’t take them, and Charlie wondered if they took pity because he failed to school his expression. He just stayed there until they were gone and then went back to his mother.

“What the fuck took you-?” She stopped short when she saw the blood in his shirt. “For fucks sake, Charlie, again?”

“I’m fine,” he answered curtly. He didn’t want her scolding him right now.

She, of course, knew he was lying, but she accepted his answer. If she called him out she took the risk of him talking back, as he did sometimes –when he was both especially miserable and well enough–, and she would have to make clear once again that he wasn’t allowed to complain or talk back, make clear that it was all to keep him alive through any means necessary. So he was allowed to lie to her once in a while, say ‘I’m fine’ and go his way. When Charlie was certain his mother wouldn’t punish him for lying to her, he went to the bathroom and started treating his brand-new wounds.

Airports were always a neutral zone. He felt just as anxious as he felt relieved. They were surrounded by strangers and it was hard to spot any familiar faces or threats, yes, but– what’s new? On the other hand, airports always meant they were moving. The unknown of a new airport always seemed to do him enough good to overshadow the constant paranoia. It was reassuring, the fact that they would be changing. It was even nice when they weren’t actively running for their lives and just hiding, flying only for reassurance and prevention.

Airports were noisy. He and his mother never talked in them. They didn’t have anything to talk about to begin with, besides maybe directions and survival, but with all the movement and people talking it would be useless to even try. He wouldn’t be able to decipher anything. When they needed to get away quickly, or the plan had to be changed abruptly, Mateo’s mother took care of guiding him through looks and pulls, maybe a little too harsh in the heat of the moment. Always the heat of the moment.

There was something new now, though. Not something never heard of before, but not usual either.

Now that he had hearing aids it wasn’t much better. He still wasn’t used to hearing with them, figuring out the words just right. Mateo wasn’t sure if it was because the aids were shitty or because his hearing was shitty, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t understand, and they couldn’t risk to get anything wrong. So they kept their method of pulls.

It wasn’t necessary this time. They had a fly without any unexpected occurrences for once. There was no way to know that would be the last one.

“I’m going to the bathroom, you stay here making guard,” Emily told him. “Don’t even think about taking off your hearing aids, you already know that me not breathing down your neck isn’t an excuse.”

She had, indeed, made very clear he had to wear his hearing aids at all times. Alex didn’t enjoy it. They were uncomfortable and it was hard to get used to the noise. He almost wished his mother hadn’t gotten them for him in the first place. But he didn’t, he was glad he had them.

So he stayed there, far from people and back to the wall, his hearing aids on and making guard while she went to the bathroom –He hoped she would bring back a puzzle for him–. Then an old woman approached, and Alex didn’t move away. She stopped out of arm’s reach. He scanned her, taking in everything he could. His gaze went back to the woman's wrinkled face.

“You hungry boy?,” she asked.

Maybe he had stared at the woman’s food for a second too long. She was looking at him with a strange look. Alex couldn’t decide if it was pity or something else. He wondered if it was possible for someone to feel both. People often felt too much. Alex was glad he didn’t.

“I’m fine.”

The woman didn’t take her eyes off him immediately. Alex vaguely wondered if he should’ve said ‘thank you’ or something. Old people often expected him to be polite. They thought he owed them that.

He was starting to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t know of any old people under his father’s command, but maybe he made an exception to caught him off guard. Maybe the woman was more than just a little nosy. She might be trying to get him to accept her food in order to get him and his mother.

Alex didn’t have to get away nor tell her to fuck off before the woman spoke again.

“I can help if you need.” He just kept staring at her. “I know people who can help.”

It was a second before Alex realized what the woman meant. He didn’t know what prompted her to it, but maybe she saw him and his mother moments before. Or maybe she was way too picky on clothes and found suspicious that he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt in winter –the last warm thing he owned had a little too much blood on it to be of use–.

He almost didn’t have scars in his arms and everything else besides his face was covered. Had the bruises from last time faded? Were they too obvious? He couldn’t check while people were watching. His mother never made anything too obvious if she could help it. It was all his fault anyway, she shouldn’t be to blame. Were he and his mother too suspicious? They would have to work on that, they needed to look as normal as possible. True, he hadn’t showered in a while, but could she tell? Alex hoped not.

He was angry –the only emotion he remembered feeling besides fear–, but the woman was probably serious. Alex didn’t think she was one of his fathers men, he was pretty good at spotting them. He wondered why she was trying to help him, and the look in her eyes came back to the front of his mind. Maybe it did meant something other than pity. Understanding, Alex thought. People were always soft for what they though was alike. If she only knew.

“I’m fine,” he stated again. Then he added “thank you,” and he buried it deep in his mind to never think of it again.

He was Neil now, the first name he ever chose himself. He made his way out of California, got his papers as Neil Josten, enrolled himself in Millport’s high school and finally started living as his new self. It had been harder to do it all alone, but he managed.

He played. He played, and he took off his hearing aids, and he heard his mother’s ghost yell at him because that’s all it’s ever done, because she never knew how to cry and she never will. Neil will fear the day he hears his mother cry for him, because that’s the day she stops being Mary.

She made him repeat every promise she had ever made him say, but now neil wasn’t so sure he could accomplish. He knew he would never trust anybody, of course, he didn’t think he was capable of doing it. But he had already looked back and slowed down, all of it for Exy. Neil was sure his mother was rolling in her grave every time he grabbed an Exy racket, again and again.

But he felt so alive now. He took back a piece of who he once was, and it was scary as fuck, but it was also so so refreshing. He knew Mary only wanted what was best for him, but he couldn’t help but disobey, if only this once. Just this once and then he would let go, be nobody and nothing again and forevermore.

He always took his hearing aids off when playing Exy, another thing his mother wouldn’t like. Not even when he slept did he take them off. He didn’t dare to, he knew he was vulnerable, his mother had told him time and time again. So he took them off because he didn’t want to break them with the harshness of the game, but he put them back on right after, even before coming back out to wait until everyone else was done and out.

There he was, deep in thought of everything he didn’t want to think about, letting his cigarette burn down. He didn’t exactly like the smell, but it was weirdly comforting, just like his mother was. As fitting as it could be.

He only looked up when Coach Hernandez, who was sat beside him, called his name so he was sure Neil could understand better. Neil didn’t get how he could be so considerate of him sometimes, as if he deserved it.

“I didn’t see your parents at the game," Hernandez said.

"They're out of town," Neil said.

"Still or again?"

Neither, but Neil wouldn’t say that.

His coach extended his hand for Neil to give up his cigarette, then ground it out on the concrete steps.

“I thought they would make an exception tonight.”

“No one knew it would be the last game.”

Neil looked back to the court in process of dismantling. It hurt to look at it, as if it was himself what was being taken apart. Maybe he was, if Exy was really all he got left, all he hadn’t been able to give up. He pushed that thought to the back of his head as if it had never even existed. He didn’t need to mull over it.

"I'll call them later with the score," he said, because Hernandez was still watching him. "They didn't miss much."

"Not yet, maybe," Hernandez said. Neil turned back to him. "There's someone here to see you."

Neil hoped he had heard wrong, but he couldn’t risk it anyway, so he immediately got up, with his bag over his shoulder. He had already taken a few steps before he heard what he thought was his name called and turned to face a large man standing in the locker room doorway.

“I don’t know you,” Neil said.

"He's from a university," Hernandez said. "He came to see you play tonight."


End file.
